The time had come. It was do or die. If he dawdled it would all be a waste. The pearlescent liquid winked at him in the bottom of the straight sided crystal glass. "Goodbye."
No longer flirting with freezing temperatures the drink had grown-up. Mellowed. Aged. He remembered only ten minutes ago when it was fierce . . .
He looked over the bottles behind the bar. They had multiplied since he stocked them last, but that was a long time ago. He was a patron now and the last drink of the night was always tricky. Through experience, he had learned what worked for him and what did not. As much as he enjoyed a whiskey before bed it never helped him come . . .
Throughout the years the methods had come and gone. Different bottles. Full to empty. He steadily searched for perfection. Each part of the drink had been examined with the strictest scrutiny. It was his favorite ritual.
The pieces of ice made his fingers look magnified as he held them. A swift smack with the back of a . . .
Leather soled wingtips were a bad choice for this graveled back patio. When he blindly agreed to dinner and drinks with an old friend he wasn't sure what to expect. On entering the place it felt more like a garage than a bar. His quick look over the counter didn't give him much hope of what was to come. His buddy went to . . .
They usually had a cocktail every evening before dinner. Sometimes two. She would tell him about her day while he stirred their drinks. He wouldn't be home this evening though. It was a rare guys night.
By the time she got home, he would be halfway through a ribeye the size of Texas and all the way through his second . . .
Time and Place for Cocktails
Certain drinks don't work in certain places. I have always known this but unless you change your geographic location and always drink the same thing it is often hard to tell.
Think cocktail bar vs dive and what you would order at each one. What if instead of a cocktail bar and dive it was urban and rural settings? What . . .
He never had to order at this bar. They always assumed he would be having his usual martini and they were always right. The day was too nice out to be crammed in the subway though. Instead, he decided to walk the fifteen or so blocks down his favorite street to his favorite bar. In doing so his order changed.
He had . . .